Having over 50 years hand-
carved mahjong tile experience,
Behind the scenes with master Mahjong
craftsman Ricky Cheung
master Ricky Cheung started
learning hand-carved tiles
from his parents when he was in
secondary school aged 13.
He is not only a professional
mahjong craftsman but also an
innovator to develop machinery
to support his father’s mahjong
manufacturing business named Cheung retired in 2018 and is now
‘Fuk Hing Lung Mahjong Facto- being an volunteer fully engaged
ry’ in 1980-2000s. It was one of with artistic and creative mahjong
craftmanship develop- ment inspired
the largest MJ factories in Hong by her daughter, Karen with a strong
Kong old days. commitment to preserve such skills
The Hong Kong-based master and intan- gible cultural heritage.
hand carved 432 tiles per day,
six days a week, as a young man.
Since then, the Mahjong industry
has waned in the era
“
of technology. Ricky looks back
on a time when the industry
boomed, expressing the beauty
of the artistry and its intrinsic
ties to Hong Kong culture. Since it’s too difficult to
learn and requires
many years to polish the
“
skills, it is very hard to
pass on the skills – it’s a
dying art indeed.
At the beginning of , a new Dallas-based mahjong company
launched with intentions to “bring mahjong to the stylish masses”
and “refresh” the centuries-old game. Titled The Mahjong Line, the
company founded by three white women quickly received wide-
spread notoriety across social media, though not to its credit. The
brand’s logo boasts a pretty-faced, rosy-cheeked East Asian wom-
an, but beyond this exotic token (wink and all) the reinterpreted
game appeared to have lost all traces of its Chinese heritage. Thou-
sands of social media users took to various platforms to express
their outrage at the whitewashing of a game which is generally un-
derstood as a central pillar of Chinese culture. The Mahjong Line
was called out across a global diaspora for its tone- deaf appropri-
ation. As one person wrote: “You threw out thousands of years of
culture to make a quick buck,” while another wrote, “My culture is
not some cheap colouring book that can be filled in and be ‘made
pretty’ by the standards of privileged teenyboppers.”

The Mahjong Line’s “modern makeover” – as described in its press

release – was selling its series of westernised mahjong tiles for a
whopping sum starting at $ to $; a far cry from the democratic
reality of the game which is widely played by people of all back-
grounds and ages. But along with the tirade of upset raising aware-
ness on why cultural appropriation collectively damages diasporic
communities, the outcry also saw an uptick in the appreciation of
mahjong’s roots. Part of this celebration shone a light on the tra-
ditional craftsmanship of mahjong tiles. A dying art form thanks
to industrial machinery, the hand carving of mahjong tiles is a
skill dating back to the game’s beginnings in th Century China.
Using only five basic tools (these are also handmade), craftsmen
free-handedly carve calligraphic characters in the ivory-white tiles
which are then painted with delicate brush strokes and in perfect
uniformity.
It’s a skill that few still practise to this day. But owing to some of our
elders who forged their careers in this pre-digital trade, the preci-
sion of mahjong carving continues to thrive through a commanding
display of speed, accuracy and craftsmanship tied up in a 200-year-
hk scenery collage
old tradition. It’s here that we meet Cheung Sing Chung, otherwise
known as Ricky Cheung. Born, raised and still residing in Hong Kong
(where the most popular version of mahjong derives) the mahjong
carving master began learning the trade at just 13-years-old at his
father’s mahjong factory in Hong Kong’s Kowloon City district – Fuk
Hing Lung Mahjong Factory.

“Mahjong is deeply rooted in Hong Kong culture,” Ricky tells us, “it
is more than a game with four players in a traditional way of playing.
It is an experience in human nature, strategy and interpersonal skills,
bringing people happiness as well as being a networking environ-
ment.” Through thick and thin, the vastly popular game has survived
a turbulent history; from Opium Wars to Japanese occupation and
British colonial rule. And like many Hong Kong residents, Ricky un-
derstands mahjong making as part of its “intangible cultural heritage,”
though one that is gradually disappearing with its retiring elders.
He remembers how grow-
ing up, there were many
people working in the
mahjong-making busi-
ness. Most families had
their own sets of hand-
carved tiles and during
the latter half of the
20th Century, mahjong
parlours thronged with
visitors from all walks
of life, wads of Hong
Kong dollars in their
back pockets or there to
simply meet with friends
or family and catch up on
the latest gossip. Not only
did mahjong tables
line the met-
ropolitan
streets under crick-
et-chirping trees, but it
was also played at wed-
dings, banquets, family
gatherings and traditional
holidays (especially the
Lunar New Year) in its
heyday. It kept the elders’
minds sharp while the
young, envious of the sen-
iors’ skill, joined in hop-
ing to one day reach that
level of accomplishment.
Mahjong was the bridge
between generations.
Back then, Ricky’s fa-
ther’s business supplied
much of this industry. It
specialised in producing
for business partners as
opposed to retailers. “We
grew up around mah-
jong,” he remembers, but
rather than sharpening
his game, he recalls the
bustling factory life and
the chattering of jade
green tiles (mahjong gets
its name from this sound
as 麻雀 refers to the chat-
tering of sparrows). Ricky
laughs saying how “we
didn’t have time to play
mahjong!” As a curious
secondary school student,
he would go down to the
factory and observe the
workers delicately carving
tiles, learning the required
techniques by eye. And
he wasn’t the only one
interested in how these
green jewels were made,
neighbours and friends
also came to the factory
to find out how the tiles
were made, discovering
the secrets first hand as
the tiles were manufac-
tured, inscribed, polished
then painted.
Fuk Hing Lung Mahjong
Factory was one of the
largest manufacturers
of mahjong tiles before
it closed in 2009. While
most mahjong factories
are now located on main-
land China – where the
game originated during
the Qing dynasty – when
Ricky was a child, the
manufacturing process
was a family affair. Both
his parents and brother
worked in the factory
while at home, the rooms
were littered with mah-
jong-making tools. He
started out his learning
journey by practising on
old tiles. As a mahjong
carver, it’s imperative all
tiles are identical other-
wise players can cheat
using irregular tiles as
markers. Focusing on
one stroke at a time, the
first step in hand carving
was to mark the position
on the tile. Then, using a
sharp tool, the craftsman
creates a deep stroke at
a sharp angle. No mean
feat considering tradi-
tional tiles are made of
sturdy bamboo, or the
more controversial bone
or ivory. Once he was
skilled in this, Ricky was
accustomed to carving a
stroke three to four times
in order to create the
right depth. “It took a lot
of effort and patience to
make sure the tiles look
beautiful,” he says. “It tru-
ly is a kind of calligraphy
created by every master.”
As his hands moulded to
the feeling of tools press-
ing into the hard tiles,
it was three years until
Ricky became a profes-
sional. He learnt to carve
the characters without
drafting their position
first, an impressive feat
considering each tile must
be totally identical to the
next. “I like to say that
carving the tiles is done
by hand and by heart,”
he says, but really, when
you take in the level of
difficulty, much of the
prowess comes down to
patience and practice.
Ricky’s father guided his
hands throughout the
informal apprenticeship.
He had moved to Hong
Kong from Macau as a
youngster, cutting his
teeth at one of the largest
mahjong retailers on the
well-known Canton Road
in Tsim Sha Tsui, steadily
learning the trade which
he would pass down to
his son.
Ricky thinks back to the years spent mas-
tering the craft, calling it “indeed a very
boring learning process” consisting of
endless repetition inscribing the 144 tiles
that make a full set. With five different
kinds of tiles that make this up, there are
three suits: dots, bamboo and characters;
honour tiles engraved with the Chinese
character for north, south, east, west
and more; and the beautiful bonus tiles
decorated in three alternating colours and
featuring illustrations of local foliage and
pictorial visualisations of the four seasons.
The most challenging aspect of the process
was not the intricacy of the patterns, how-
ever, nor the polishing, painting or pack-
aging. For Ricky, the hardest part involved
the philosophy behind the manufacturing.
As he puts it, “using yin and yang, com-
plementary rather than opposing forces to
do the hand carving.” In ancient Chinese
philosophy, yin and yang is the concept
of dualism. It represents how seemingly
contrasting or opposite forces may in fact
complement one another. It explains how
two forces that appear wholly incompati-
ble on one hand, like black and white, can
in fact be interconnected in the natural
world. In this way, black cannot exist
without white and vice versa. One may
give rise to the other much like the anima
and animus, the sun and moon, north and
south magnetic poles, summer and winter.
Just like these examples, a similar kind of
balance exists in human movement. In
Tai Chi or Kung Fu, for example, practices
similarly predicated on ancient Chinese
philosophy, the concept of yin and yang
is omnipresent. Tension is yang whereas
relaxation is yin. The body should not be
too stiff in order for blood and energy to
circulate. It should also not be too soft or
the movement becomes empty and void
of intention. When yin and yang are bal-
anced, true Tai Chi occurs. Chi (also spelt
qi) is the vital life force that runs through
all living beings, from plankton in the
depths of the ocean to the tender new
shoots of bamboo. In turn, in Chinese
philosophy, Tai Chi refers to the ultimate
source and limit of reality, from which
spring yin and yang and all of creation.
For Ricky, there is a deep relationship
between how the game is played and the
manufacturing process. By using hand-
carved sets, the player’s game is more intu-
itive as they can distinguish a tile purely
by running a thumb over the engraved
strokes. Whereas nowadays, mahjong sets
tend to be laser cut or digitally printed or
even played online. As industrial methods
of mass production swept Hong Kong in
the 90s, many manufacturing lines moved
to the low-cost lands of mainland China
and the local industry was greatly impact-
ed. “A lot of people lost their jobs since
the 2000s,” says Ricky. As a result, the
trade faltered and today, “only a few hand
carvers remain active in Hong Kong,” says
Ricky. “Since it’s too difficult to learn and
requires ma\ny years to polish the skills,
it is very hard to pass on the skills – it’s a
dying art indeed.”